


Everything Else Is A Waste of Breath

by Flyting



Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Kilgrave is a walking trigger, Stalking, nonconsensual playlist sharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-05 14:39:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5378792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flyting/pseuds/Flyting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Did you get my present?</i>
</p><p>AKA: That time Kilgrave made Jessica a mixtape.</p><p>A combination fanfic/fanmix.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything Else Is A Waste of Breath

[Listen](https://8tracks.com/sauver1881/a-waste-of-breath-a-jessica-kilgrave-fanmix)

* * *

 

“Are you Jessica Jones?” The woman in the green jacket says. She’s got an expensive-looking black gift box cradled carefully in both hands, like it’s a child.  
  
Her heart drops until it’s sloshing around somewhere in the vicinity of her kidneys.  
  
“Yeah.” It comes out a croak. She doesn’t know the woman, but she recognizes that dreamy tone and the tight lines of fear around the eyes. She shoots a glance up and down the street just out of habit. No one there. At least, no one that she can see.  
  
The woman smiles. “This is for you.”

“Thanks,” Jessica mumbles as the box is pushed into her hands. It’s lighter than she expected. Tied up with a soft, cream-colored ribbon.

She opens her mouth to ask the woman who gave it to her, but nothing comes out. What’s the point? She knows exactly who fucking sent it.

The woman is gone before she looks up. Disappeared into the crowd. Good for her.

Jessica holds the box at arm’s-length the whole elevator ride up to her apartment.

Just as she’s pushing open the door, her phone vibrates with an incoming text.

She resists the urge to throw the box at a wall as hard as she can. Tosses it on the desk instead, with only a little more force than necessary. Maybe there’s a clue in there. Something stupidly expensive that only comes from one place in the city. Something that’ll help catch him.

With one hand she fishes around under her desk for the bottle of Wild Turkey she dropped earlier, thumbing through her phone with the other.

_12:02  
Did you get my present?_

Fingers close around the neck of the bottle and she takes a fortifying mouthful before replying.

_12:03  
You shouldn’t have._

The box just sits there, staring at her. She takes another drink.

Better to just get it over with. Like a bandaid.

The ribbon tears with a nice satisfying  _rip_. Inside, cushioned on a big pile of curly paper shavings, is a new iPod.

Jessica thinks belatedly, as she shakes the iPod out of the box and out onto the desk, that she probably should have called somebody first. Checked to make sure it wasn’t a bomb or anthrax or some shit like that. He could have killed her just now and she would have walked right into it. Her own damn fault.

But no, it wouldn’t be a bomb. He doesn’t want her  _dead_.

She wishes that thought were even remotely comforting.

The iPod is already turned on. She pokes it, knocking it out of sleep mode. One playlist pops up. It’s labeled ‘Our Songs’.

* * *

* * *

  
Her phone buzzes again. What is he, fucking psychic too?

 _12:04_  
_I had a lot of time to think about us while I was recovering. Tell me what you think._

Her lip curls involuntarily as she thumbs through the list. She’s heard most of it before. Syrupy Taylor Swift love songs, Elvis Costello, some opera crap that she knew for a fact he only pretended to like because he thought it made him classy. Was this seriously how he saw them? How he saw her? He was drinking his own kool-aid if he really believed she thought he was  _so tall and handsome as hell_ and  _so bad but he does it so well._  Ugh.

She kills the last of the whiskey in one burning gulp.

_12:04  
I think your taste in music is shit._

She fires back. Pinches the iPod between two fingers like a fifties housewife trying to get rid of a dead rat and drops it in the top drawer of her desk. After a second she drops her phone in there too.  Fuck it. The drawer makes a nice loud slam when it shuts.

She’s too sober for any more of this bullshit right now.

 


End file.
